


if we could only turn back time

by louisintights



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Memories, Sad Harry, Tears, fluff but its all in the past, mentions of gay sex, soz im kinda emotional rn i suppose, why did i do this to myself
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-27
Updated: 2013-10-27
Packaged: 2017-12-30 16:19:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1020796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/louisintights/pseuds/louisintights
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And now Harry's reliving each moment, remembering enough for both of them. Each memory hurts him somewhere, hurts like being stabbed, but Harry feels so numb that he's barely aware of the pain. He just has this vague sensation of wanting to be sick.</p>
            </blockquote>





	if we could only turn back time

After everyone else has left, long after the ceremony, Harry stands in the cemetery, hands in his pockets, staring down into the open grave. He isn't crying. He hasn't cried yet, he knows he should, but something inside of him feels too huge, too heavy to be shifted by tears.

It's not raining, of course. Louis would probably be pissed off if it were; he'd go off on some rant about cliches and unnecessary gloom leaving Harry shaking his head bemusedly, sentences behind and entirely unconvinced of the evil of rainy funerals.

Right now, Harry wouldn't even notice if it were raining. he's squinting from the bright sunshine, but not even registering the blue sky. All he can look at is the hole in the ground. The deep, uniformly neat rectangle. And at the bottom, innocently sitting there, the smooth, blank surface of the coffin. Harry can't get past the coffin. He thinks he's memorized the exact shade of brown- the whole grave is imprinted forever in his mind, but the edges are starting to blur, and only the coffin remains clear.

Harry thinks it's funny that the coffin is that color brown, funny because it's the exact color of Louis's hair in dull light when there's no sunshine to illuminate the warmer gold tones.

Harry remembers all too well what Louis looks like in the sun; his tan seems to glow, his eyes exactly match the deep blue turquoise of the sea.

_He splashes at Harry, giggling. They're both knee-deep in the ocean, not nearly out to where the breakers crash. It's low tide, and the water's so shallow that it feels like they could walk all the way to the horizon._

_"We going out any further today, Lou?"_

_Louis smirks and gestures for Harry to go ahead. "We sure as hell aren't, I don't know if you are."_

_Harry comes closer, and they both know what's going to happen next, but Louis's staring at Harry's face with that strange expression he sometimes gets- when Harry's opening bleary green eyes in the morning, or telling one of his long, slow stories, or hitting a particularly high note perfectly in concert._

_Harry waves a hand in front of Louis's face._

_"You there, Boo?" He flicks a little water at him, and it slides down his cheek like a tear._

_Louis snaps out of it, his wide eyes crinkle into a smile as he reaches forward to take Harry's hand. "I smell breakfast, you ready to go?"_

_Harry stays where he is. "Aren't you forgetting something?"_

_Lou tugs at his hand a little. "No, what?"_

_"I'm a pirate."_

_Louis rolls his eyes. "And...?"_

_"And I'm kidnapping you and heading off to the high seas!"_

_And with that, Harry scoops Louis up and throws him over his shoulder, and then he's running, straight out into the sea towards the sun, and a squirming Louis's protests turn to giggles, and then they're both standing waist deep, past the waves, drenched from where Harry had to dive through one to keep from being smacked. Louis turns toward Harry abruptly and pulls his face down for a kiss._

Harry opens his eyes, he hadn't realized that he closed them. The sun's gone behind a cloud and a chilly breeze has picked up. He looks around, disoriented for a moment, and his eyes stop on the headstone.

Louis William Tomlinson

Dear brother, son, friend, and lover.

December 24, 1992- June 3, 2015

 

This is the first time that Harry's really looked at it. They'd tried to make him help choose the design, choose which words that in one hundred years would be all anyone would know about Louis Tomlinson.

Harry couldn't. He'd been in no condition to do anything at all; if Liam and Eleanor hadn't been so capable then the funeral would probably never have happened. Or at the very least, would've been even worse than it was.

Harry barely remembers the funeral service, but he remembers exactly what he was doing on that last day.

He'd been waiting up for Louis to get back from visiting his family. It was a long drive home, and Harry had wanted Louis to stay the night in Doncaster and come home in the morning. Jay, of course, had agreed. But Louis had been adamant, there was some weird celebration going on in London that involved fireworks and he wanted to watch them with Harry from their balcony.

Harry already felt bad for not going with Louis, he'd been sick and barely able to move, but had insisted that Louis go without him. Now he was entirely recovered, but wanted to welcome Louis home in style. He was planning to make the nicest dinner he could; he'd spent his entire afternoon at the farmer's market, buying fresh vegetables (not carrots, Louis still had a thing about carrots), sourdough bread, and several pies.

He'd been right in the middle of cooking.

_His cell phone rings. He ignores it because he's got a casserole half in the oven and mitts on both hands, and he's wearing nothing but briefs and an olive oil-splattered apron. Then the landline rings._

_Harry doesn't know why, but this makes him panic. The home phone never rings. He slams the oven shut, pulls off a mitt, and answers the phone._

_It's a girl, and she's crying too hard for Harry to understand what she's saying at first. He thinks she's saying "loser, loser" over and over, and although he has no idea what's going on, his hands are shaking so badly that he has to put the call on speaker and set the phone on the table._

_It's Lottie, and she's not saying "loser". She's saying "Lou's hurt", garbled because she's sobbing so violently that it sounds like she's going to choke._

_Harry hasn't registered what she's saying yet, not really. His brother instincts have kicked in and his only goal is to calm Lottie down. But no matter what he tries to soothingly murmur, she's still borderline hysterical._

_Finally, she gives the phone to Fizzy. Fizzy's soft voice fills the kitchen, fills Harry's head._

_"Louis's been in an accident, a bad one. They've got him at the hospital, but mum says we aren't to go because there's not really a chance."_

_Harry's already out the door with his car keys, he pokes his head back in to yell "I'll be there!" at the telephone._

_When he gets to the hospital, finding Louis proves difficult. Nobody seems to understand what he's talking about. It doesn't help that Harry's panicking, talking too fast, too impatiently. All he can think about is seeing Louis._

_Finally he just takes off down a corridor, shoving past people and careening around corners, darting into rooms only to see no familiar face._

_And then he hears Louis's name, skids to a stop, and hurtles over to the room. He stops in the doorway abruptly._

_Louis's lying in a bed. But "lying" isn't the right word. Louis's been placed on a bed. He's unconscious, hooked up to about sixty machines, swollen and cut up, blood in his hair. There's a few doctors standing near him, but they're not doing anything._

_Harry takes this all in and then he's across the room in seconds, leaning over the bed._

_"Lou? Louis?" he whispers frantically. Louis just lies there, already looking like a corpse._

_Harry reaches out to shake his shoulder, but his hand falls to the mattress instead, and he leaves it there, limp. He feels his whole body sag as all the tension and worry and hope seep out of him at once._

_Because he knows. He knew the instant Louis didn't respond, didn't crack one blue eye open and fondly sparkle at him for being so worked up. He knows it's over. He closes his own eyes, and then everything seems to fade away._

_When he wakes up, he's still in that damn hospital, in a bed of his own. The boys are there: Liam is red-eyed but watching over him; Niall's asleep in the chair, stirring restlessly; Zayn's sitting in the corner with his knees pulled to his chest and head down, curled into himself in a tiny ball._

_They all finally get out of there and go to Liam's. Liam and Niall sit huddled together on the couch in silence, Zayn hides at the bottom of the linen closet, and Harry goes to the bedroom and sinks onto the floor._

 

He couldn't think of anything but those last moments seeing Louis.

In movies, everyone gets last words, confessions, whispered "I love you"s. At least a smile or a hand squeeze. But this is real life, and Harry got nothing, nothing but a glimpse of Louis's damaged, broken body, so tiny when surrounded by cold, uncaring machines.

Harry doesn't even remember what his last words with Louis were, and he can't stand that. They could've been anything, but what kills him is that they were probably a goodbye. But a light, casual goodbye. Goodbye for the weekend, only one night. Not goodbye for a lifetime.

Harry's shaken out of his reverie by an arm linking through his. He opens his eyes and it's Eleanor. She's not peering at him concernedly the way everyone seems to be doing lately, she's just staring straight ahead.

"Hey," he manages.

She squeezes his arm, and then draws back to place her shawl around his shoulders. He looks up, surprised, he hadn't realized how much darker the sky's gotten, how much chillier the air is.

Eleanor rubs his shoulder a little the way she used to do with Louis back when that whole farce had been going on; she'd always transformed from awkward "girlfriend" to comforting, almost maternal friend the moment the cameras left.

"Oh, Harry," she says, her voice catching a little. She takes a deep breath and collects herself. "I'll send someone up in a little if you're still here. Take your time, babe."

She ruffles his hair a little and without waiting for a response, walks away, back down the hill on the path that leads to the parking lot.

Harry's appreciative, way back in his mind where he actually is registering what's going on. Eleanor's been wonderful, especially to Louis's sisters- especially to Lottie, who's been so unreachable.

He remembers way back, years ago when Eleanor was still bearding, before someone leaked that blurry camera phone footage of an unmistakably hot "Larry Stylinson" makeout session.

Harry will always be grateful to El for making those years less painful than they could've been. He remembers quite vividly that horrible winter when Modest! introduced Haylor.

Louis had been devastated. Not out of jealousy or anything equally irrational- he'd just wanted from the beginning to be the only one faking kisses, always wanted to shied Harry from the public speculation. The irony, of course, being that Harry was forced to play the womanizer for years.

Harry thinks back to that thinks back to that one awful night, worse than any at the time because they couldn't be together to make it better.

_Harry gets a call from Liam, he's worried. He tells Harry how Louis's been drinking all night, how Louis's this close to crying- and Louis never cries. Harry's upset, wants to come to the club and take Louis home himself._

_And then Modest! takes Harry and his suitcase and hustles him up to Taylor Swift's hotel room where he can't get out to go to him._

_Harry's pacing up and down while Taylor skypes her friends. He's angrily typing out tell-all Tweets only to erase them without posting._

_He can't sleep, Louis hasn't called him back. And then the next day Eleanor hauls a red-eyed Louis all over the city, and Harry leaves Taylor's hotel room without ever speaking to her, and both of their Eeyore-sad faces make the papers._

 

Harry remembers how after that, things gradually, very gradually got better for them. Until they finally had their first interview as a couple-within-a-band.

_Louis sits half in his lap, daring their handlers to object. They're on the Ellen Show, and she asks them to "give us a little kiss"._

_Intead of the chaste peck that was expected, Harry dips Louis back and snogs him senseless, leaving the audience members shocked (well, most of them, some of the fans were ecstatic), the boys cackling and cat-calling, and Louis flushed, beaming up at him, radiant and breathless._

Harry sighs, jolting himself back to earth, eyes still closed.

They say that everything comes back in flashes and you replay all of your memories one by one when you're about to die. But now Harry's doing just that, and Louis's the one who's dead. Did Louis even have a chance to remember?

All Liam let the doctors tell Harry is that it was quick, sudden, one blow of massive head trauma and then no more Lou.

This was supposed to be a comfort, but Harry's not so sure. He thinks Louis would've wanted to remember, even if it meant he'd be in physical pain. Louis never complained about pain. Louis hurt himself all the time without even noticing. Harry thinks Louis's would've wanted a chance to remember, to realize, to say goodbye.

And now Harry's reliving every moment enough for both of them. Each memory hurts him somewhere, like being stabbed, but Harry feels so numb that he can't cry or curse. He just has this vague sensation of wanting to be sick.

He looks at the flowers on the headstone and flash, he's seeing Louis sprawled out under him on the mattress with a dandelion crown falling off his sweaty fringe, sighing as Harry pounds into him, eyes half shut, pupils dilated, his whole body flushed and sweaty as he moans Harry's name.

Harry looks down at the ground, at his shoes, and instead sees Louis bursting into the room with a pair of hideous Toms that he bought Harry to wear as everyday shoes and thus preserve his much-loved much-worn boots. When Harry rejects them, Louis replaces them with a pair of lacy crotchless panties and a set of furry handcuffs, and greets Harry wearing both and nothing else, smiling up at him from their bed.

Harry sees the sky and sees Louis's eyes when he's just woken up.

He hears the leaves whistling and hears Louis's gleeful cackle when he gets points against Harry in Scrabble; hears Louis's soft, pleased mewl of contentment when he's snuggled up in Harry's lap on the couch, cuddled into his chest tightly with one arm sticking out occasionally to steal Harry's crisps.

Harry hears the birds and hears Louis singing Adele in the shower.

He feels the breeze, and feels Lou's fingers tangling through his hair when Harry sucks him off; feels Louis ruffling his curls and stroking his jaw and standing on tiptoe to put a possessive hand on the back of his neck.

Harry sees the coffin and sees nothing of Lou there. None of his sparkle or stubborn bravery or teasing grin. None of his frustrated tears or tiny hands or soft curves.

Harry sees the coffin and sees years of loneliness; sees nights spent awake, no ring on his finger- the one he'd bought for Lou a few weeks ago and not mentioned yet sitting forever in his sock drawer.

He sees no more lazy morning in bed, no more late late night conversations about everything that's ever mattered, no more silly arguments followed by mindblowing makeup sex. No more "I love you"s whispered into damp hair in the shower.

He sees no more Harry and Lou- no more Lou at all.

And then he realizes that he's crying, and somehow Zayn's there, and Zayn touches his shoulder and Harry realizes that it's almost sunset and that he's sitting now, with his legs bent at an awkward angle beneath him. Niall's on his other side, cross-legged and silent, and Zayn's leaning into Liam, who has one hand in Harry's hair.

There's a gap next to Harry where Louis should be.

But there's a hole in the ground and a coffin in the hole, and Louis's in that coffin.

And in Harry there's nothing but an aching emptiness.


End file.
